Wednesday's Child
by Eskay Miras
Summary: Some years after the war, and Harry has left the Wizard world for a calm life in the Muggle world- until a kidnapping by a "dead" death eater thrusts him back into dangerous territory. A life-changing secret is unveiled. Powerful Harry! Harry/Fleur. Past/present storyline. Harry/Riddle storyline
1. Chapter 1

**1**

_24__th__ December, 2018. Bukhurst Hill, London._

The black Rolls-Royce Phantom crunched over the snow to a stop outside a double-gated driveway. Beyond the gates an impressive mansion stood proudly, sneering condescendingly at the much smaller houses flanking it. Harry Potter squinted through the tinted windows and saw through the un-curtained windows of the mansion the thin figure of Petunia Dursley bustling back and forth in what appeared to be the drawing room. Even at this distance, Harry could see his aunt was agitated as she spoke animatedly into a mobile phone — there was enough hand gesturing to put an Italian to shame. Harry leaned back in his seat and allowed the soft leather to embrace him. With a flick of his wrist he removed his holly and phoenix feather wand from its arm holster; another flick and the gates slowly opened inwards revealing meticulously well-kept lawns, the green covered by snow, either side of the driveway.

"Let's go, Bernard," Harry said to his chauffeur. The Phantom came frictionlessly back to life and crunched over the snow up the drive. Harry glanced up at the house, sighed, and opened the car door. He half-jogged, half walked up the short flight of stairs to the door and rang the bell, wishing almost instantly that he hadn't. It had been twenty years since Harry had last seen or heard from his only living relatives. Their parting at Privet Drive all those years ago was awkward to say the very least; nobody knew what to say to each other after seventeen years of solid, mutual dislike. Harry had battled Death Eaters, Dementors, a Basilisk and the crazy psychopath who called himself "Lord Voldemort" but this imminent meeting with the Dursleys somewhat scared him. He couldn't, no matter what, forget those years of endless neglect and the fear that his uncle, Vernon, instilled in him as a child. Yet here he was, unexpected, at the doorstep of the very same people whom he wished never to lay eyes upon again.

The door was opened by a tall, broad and clearly muscular man. He had a round, clean-shaven face, bright blue eyes under a pair of thick eyebrows, thin lips and a broken nose. His blond hair was cropped short in a buzz-cut. Dudley Dursley looked at the unfamiliar guest at the door.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his voice slow and unsure, as though he was assessing each word for potential danger before he spoke them.

"Er, yeah, I think you can," Harry said, slightly uncertainly, before grinning and adding, "Big D." Dudley looked blankly at Harry before recognition slowly dawned on his face. His small eyes squinted and opened wide while his mouth replicated the move.

"Bloody hell... Harry?"

"Yep," Harry replied with half-hearted cheeriness. He was unsure how the Dursleys would react, and his right hand was ready to draw out his wand given the slightest excuse. Years of battle, with betrayal in between, had made Harry very cautious, even around those whom he knew he could trust. Well, his parents learnt it the hard way, but even your best friends can stab you in the back for a bit of short-lived, meaningless glory.

"Jeez… I thou — _we _thought you were dead," Dudley said as he looked Harry up and down, clearly trying to decide whether he was indeed Harry and not an apparition.

_Like he'd know the difference._

"Ah, I'm sorry I survived, Big D. As lovely as the day is outside, do you mind if I come in?" Harry asked, becoming sightly irritated.

"No, no — I mean yeah, course you come in. But I didn't mean I'm not happy you're alive," Dudley said hastily before adding, "welcome back, Harry."

"Thanks Big D." Harry extended his right hand and met his cousin's bigger one in a weak handshake, before Dudley pulled him into an awkward embrace. Harry's immediate reaction was recoil, pull out his wand and stupefy his cousin into sweet oblivion, but then he remembered the last time he saw Dudley. He wasn't all bad. Harry gave a mental shrug and grasped him tightly with his free arm. They pulled apart from the hug and Dudley wordlessly led Harry down a marble-floored hallway, turning into the drawing room at the back of the hall. Petunia was still on the phone.

"But Clarissa _can't _be serious, Jane. She—" Petunia froze as suddenly as though she had been hit with a _petrificus totalus. _"I'll call you back, Janette."

"Er, mum. We have a guest." Dudley grinned at the evident shock on his mother's face. Harry, on the other hand, was looking at anything that wasn't his aunt's embarrassingly surprised face.

_Jesus, she looks like she just found Vernon in a very awkward situation._

"It's you," she breathed. Harry wasn't sure if he could detect anger or fear in her voice. "Wha...what are you doing here?" she asked incredulously.

"Well," said Harry nervously, "it is Christmas." Dudley laughed, pushing Harry down onto one of the sofas.

"Sure is, Harry. Sit down. Want something to drink — tea, coffee, or something stronger?"

"Er, no thanks…Actually, d'you have any orange juice?" Petunia gaped at her nephew, her mouth open and eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

_If that's what she looks like when blowing Vernon…_

"Yeah, I'll bring some through," replied Dudley, leaving Harry and Petunia alone. Harry took advantage of having his back to his aunt and appraised the drawing room. He thought he'd travelled back in time to the Victorian era. The paintings on the wall showed Petunia's lack of coordination. _Honestly, _Harry thought, _who would put a Rubens in a room like this? _Harry shook the thoughts from his head and looked at his aunt. The years had not been kind to her. She was looking her age — perhaps more than it. For instance, it was obvious that much of her hair was artificial, and that without copious Botox injections and probably quite a bit of plastic surgery she would have a rather wrinkled face. Petunia remained standing, frozen, and had it not been for the fact she had spoken Harry would have thought she _had_ been hit with a _petrificus totalus. _It was time to break the ice.

"Merry Christmas, Aunt Petunia," he tried. She didn't answer, but she did move slowly to a sofa and sit down. He noted with amusement that she chose to sit so that the table was between the two of them. Dudley re-entered carrying a try laden with champagne flutes, a carton of orange juice and a bottle of _Château Monique _wine. He placed the tray on the table, moved round to stand behind his mother, and she reached up to take his hand. Harry waited a minute or so, and then decided to cut to the chase.

"Look, Aunt Petunia. If, like me, you're willing to drop any hard feelings between us, then I'd like to cordially invite you to my wedding." His aunt just looked at him, like Dudley had, and decided she wasn't hallucinating. Dudley, on the other hand, gaped at Harry.

"Your _wedding_?!"

"Yeah," Harry replied and added, "mind you, I _did _propose after a few drinks had been shared." Dudley laughed a deep slow laugh that seemed to emanate from his stomach. Harry turned to his aunt and waited for her to speak. Petunia was, quite literally, lost for words. Twenty years, she thought to herself. She couldn't believe how much the boy she used to terrorise had changed. For one, Harry, at thirty-seven, was no longer a boy. A three-day stubble grew from his cheeks and chin, and those familiar green eyes looked at her without glasses. His trademark jet black and perpetually untidy hair was now tidy, combed sideways with the effect of making Harry look, well, aristocratically handsome, thought Petunia. He was dressed impeccably, wearing a suit that screamed of wealth and Saville Row and on the little finger of his right hand, he wore an intriguing looking gold signet ring. The Patek Phillipe on his left wrist completed the image of an extremely wealthy businessman.

Petunia didn't know how to react. She hadn't given the boy much thought since they last saw each so it was only fair that she be allowed time to decide whether she still hated him. Meanwhile, Harry was also feeling confused, unsure whether he really did want these people back his life. For twelve years he was treated like a, well there was nothing to compare how he was treated. There wasn't any outright physical abuse (not counting that one time after Dudley's eleventh birthday), but Harry would have rather been beaten than have gone through what he did. And here he was, trying to reconcile with the Dursleys. With the confusion, Harry was also extremely uncomfortable, for this was the only time, as far as he remembered, that speaking to his aunt actually felt natural.

"I'll go get dad," Dudley said, and left the room with a speed that belied his speech.

"Nice house," Harry commented, looking straight at his aunt. Fear. Yes, it was fear that Harry had detected in his aunt's voice, and he could see it now in her face.

_She thinks I'm here to kill them or something._

"Thank you. Vernon is now-"

"CEO of Grunnings, yes," Harry interjected with a wistful smile. Petunia was obviously surprised at his knowledge. Harry thought he'd milk the moment for what it was worth. "Yes, CEO. And Dudley an Olympic medallist boxer, and you…a housewife." Petunia looked inquisitively at Harry, and relaxed slightly.

"You've been keeping up on us." It wasn't a question and it wasn't even directed at Harry. Petunia's words seemed to have a cathartic effect and she relaxed completely even making an unnatural attempt at a smile. Unnatural because it was aimed at Harry. "Despite what we did to you, how we treated you, you still thought of us. And here we were, not mentioning your name even once," Petunia murmured, almost apologetically. She looked at her nephew with watery eyes, as a look of sincere regret came over her face. This made Harry even more uncomfortable. He tried changing the subject but just then, Vernon Dursley walked in with his son in tow. Unlike Petunia, Vernon reacted quicker to Harry's presence. His face began that colour transformation Harry was so used to seeing, going from pink through red and finally settling on maroon. Harry was pretty sure that it was no good for his blood pressure.

"You! What are you...how da…" Vernon trailed off before dropping himself on the easy chair beside his wife. He looked at Petunia, then at Harry, then back to Petunia before deciding it was Harry he wanted to look at. For now at least.

"Ah, Uncle Vernon, how nice it is to see you," Harry said with a hint of bitterness. He hadn't travelled half way across the world just to be spoken to like this by his bigoted uncle. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and put his hands together before asking, "So, this is the thanks I get for making you Chief Executive Officer?" Harry had expected a look of violent surprise to dance on his uncle's face. Instead, violent surprise took hold of Vernon's entire body, propelling him to half sit, half stand, and Harry could have sworn that his uncle's thick moustache wriggled. Or would have if it wasn't obviously artificial.

"Yes. I'm that anonymous shareholder with an eighty-three percent stake in Grunnings. Seven hundred million pounds… that was a bargain. But I'm not here to talk about that."

"You...anony...seven hundred mi…" Vernon looked like he was on the verge of tears and Harry had to suppress a very strong urge to laugh. Opposite him, Petunia was also visibly startled, but she seemed to have understood something as she smiled again. Of course it was Harry, she thought to herself. It wasn't as though Vernon got to the top solely on his credentials.

Vernon finally relaxed, and when Dudley had also sat down, and when Harry was sure that the Dursleys were listening, he began.

"Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, Dudley," Harry addressed each one with a slight nod of his head. "I'm not here to cause trouble, nor am I here to ask for your gratitude. I consider my actions as compensation to you for having to put up with me for sixteen years. I know you wanted nothing to do with 'my lot' and what Dumbledore did was wrong." Harry paused and looked at the Dursleys. The were still all ears. "What Dumbledore did was wrong, especially since I was actually meant to live with my godfather, Sirius. Despite that, you didn't have to treat me as you did, but that's the past. Let bygones be bygones. Since you last saw me, I have managed to kill Voldemort, end the war, and graduate from school. I moved back into your world, and with the fortune I inherited from Sirius, I've managed to live comfortably." The Dursleys were now slightly leaning forward in their seats, clearly interested in what Harry had to say. "Everything's fine now, great in fact, and that's why I've come here. I want you to come to my wedding. Despite our past and mutual dislike, I want to get over that and you're the only family I have. I've realised that there's nothing more important in life than family." Harry finished his little speech, and looked at each of the Dursleys. What was going through their heads, only Merlin knew. He was convinced that this was the right thing to do, to keep any family of his close. He'd lost his parents, his godfather and his uncle Moony and even if he wasn't in love with the Dursleys, they were still family. Especially his aunt, Lily's sister. She was the first to speak.

"Oh, Harry," Petunia breathed. "I never hated you...I just…" Petunia sighed and straightened the creases in her dress before she continued. "I hated your father. He was a good for nothing rich ruffian. Your mother couldn't see it, but he was bad news-"

"What do you mean 'bad news?" Harry interjected angrily. "That's my father you're talking about."

"I- I'm sorry, it's- it's just how I felt...at the time. It's nothing, I'm sorry," stuttered Petunia. "Harry, I loved your mother. Lily and I...we were as close as you can get and when she had to go to that school...oh, I didn't want her to leave me. I hated her for that. But…" she trailed off, and Harry suspected she had no more to say. She tried to stifle a sob behind her handkerchief, before completely burying her head in it. Vernon Dursley slowly rose from his seat with that slow deliberation Harry had seen in Dudley, though in Vernon's case it was most likely due to old age. The Dursley patriarch walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back and head bowed. At the window, he lifted his head and gazed absently beyond the gates. Vernon remained quiet, apparently lost in contemplation before slightly turning his head and saying, "Come over here, boy." Sixteen years of being addressed as thus left Harry under no false impression that Vernon was addressing Dudley. Harry made his way over to his uncle, assuming the same pose a couple of feet away.

"You say you want to forget the past?" Vernon asked in a hushed voice.

"Definitely, if you can bring yourself to it," Harry replied calmly but in the same hushed tone. Vernon turned to face Harry and looked his nephew in the eyes before offering his pudgy right hand. A small smile was attempting to force its way onto Vernon's lips and it was enough for Harry to shake his uncle's hand. The handshake was like a hug and tears of joy, coming from uncle Vernon, and Harry knew it. Vernon turned to his wife and said, "I think dinner will be for four today, Petunia," before walking out of the drawing room.

Dinner was a slightly depressing affair. The only sound apart from the occasional "could you please pass the" was the chinks of cutlery and the sporadic coughs from Vernon. As usual, Petunia's dinner was bland in taste and presentation. The roast beef was the only thing giving flavour to the mashed potatoes and vegetables but Harry still complemented the meal. After fifteen minutes of silent dining, Vernon cleared his throat and said, "That was lovely, Petunia." Turning to Harry, Vernon faltered slightly before launching into a conversation opener. This made Harry even more uncomfortable. Clearly, Vernon didn't know how to start and so decided to speak rapidly in case his nerve failed him. "Sohowlongareyouplanningonstayinghere?" The words rolled of his tongue with such speed, Harry was sure a ticket was in order. Vernon collected himself, cleared his throat, and tried again.

"How long are you planning on staying here?"

"Well, not more than another couple of hours. I've got a flight to catch and tomorrow I'm to meet President Morgan in Washington." Vernon's eyes widened.

"President Morgan?" he asked animatedly, clearly forgetting his initial awkwardness. "_President _Morgan?" he asked again.

"Yes, uncle Vernon. _President _Morgan of the United States," Harry replied, not bothering to hide his smug smile.

"Well, how do you know _him_?" Vernon's tone of voice had altered considerably. He was speaking to Harry as though they were friends, and Harry felt relieved.

_This is going better than I expected._

"Well, I sort of funded his presidential campaign," said Harry. "I think I mentioned earlier that Sirius left me a bit of money."

"Yes, bu- but funding a _presidential campaign _requires more than 'a bit of money'!" Vernon was now sitting up in his chair, slightly leaning forward as though to get a better look at Harry.

"Go on," Harry said with a sigh. "Ask me how much he left me. I can see it's itching you."

"Bu...that's to s….I didn't mea- how much did he leave you?" bumbled Vernon, his voice rising an octave towards the end. Harry considered the question. Oh, he was going to answer, that was for sure. It wasn't that Harry was the ostentatious type, flaunting his money like other people he knew. It was more to do with the fact that, despite his earnest desire for a reconciliation, Harry wanted to rub this in the Dursley's face. Money and status was all they cared for. Money they had, but status, something which Harry had, was sadly proving elusive for the Dursleys, even with Vernon's position as CEO and Dudley's fame as a boxer. Harry wanted to show them that despite what he was put through, he managed to get somewhere (albeit with considerable help from Sirius and his parents).

Harry looked away and quietly said, "Something in the region of ten billion pounds." The unison chorus of "WHAT?!" from the Dursleys slightly startled Harry, but he took it in his stride.

"Yeah, but that's just a conservative estimate," said Harry, shrugging and raising his eyebrows. He looked at the Dursleys for a few seconds before he burst into laughter.

"Dear Merlin! You should see your faces," Harry managed to say. "You look like a penguin that's just been told it can't fly."

"Yeah, well it's not every day we find out that our estranged nephew is a billionare," mumbled Vernon.

"Fair enough," chuckled Harry, before taking a huge risk. He flexed his right forearm and his wand slid into his hand. The Dursleys immediately flinched violently, yelping and looking utterly horrified. Harry raised both his hands in placation before flicking his wand. A partridge flew out of the wand, circled the room before perching on the windowsill. Harry flicked his wand again and a miniature pear tree sprang out from the wand tip. The partridge flew across the dining room and landed in the small pear tree. Harry looked at the Dursleys.

"It's the first day of Christmas, so here's a partridge in a pear tree," said Harry, smiling uncertainly. The silence that followed was deafening. That is until Vernon roared with laughter, breaking the spell of fear the Dursleys had cast on themselves.

Harry followed his uncle up the sweeping marble stairs. He had to admit, the house was rather pretty. The chandelier hanging from the high ceiling in the hall was huge, though not imposing, with beautiful crystal lights, and Harry had to resist a childish urge to swing on it. At the top of the stairs, they turned right and walked down a darkly lit wooden corridor that smelled of premium cigars and quality whiskey. The walls of the corridor held family pictures and Harry was not surprised not see a picture of himself. At the end of the corridor, Vernon led Harry into his study and shut the heavy wooden door silently behind him. Harry was impressed. The room was square and spacious yet well furnished. There was still hints of that Victorian design Harry had seen in the drawing room, but this was perfectly balanced with the modern office equipment. A dark, oak table near the back of the study and in front of a well-stocked bookshelf held a thirty-two inch iMac. The wall the left of the table was covered with books bound in plain black and gold. Harry looked closer at the titles and saw such classics as _War and Peace, Ulysses _and _Pride and Prejudice_. There was one painting in the room, just above the door, which Harry recognised as a Velázquez.

_It looks authentic, as well._

Vernon walked over to small table near the main one, and poured out to glasses of whiskey from a crystal decanter. He offered one to Harry and asked, "Cigar?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry replied, taking his drink in his left hand and the proffered cigar in his right. Vernon gestured to the easy chair in front of his own as he sit down behind the table.

"You'll forgive an old man, won't you, boy?" Vernon asked. Harry noticed that although his uncle still addressed him as 'boy', that harshness in the word had gone.

"That's what I came over to do, uncle Vernon," Harry replied. Vernon's eyes met his nephew's before the old man dropped his head and began nodding slowly.

"Yes, yes. Ah, we were such cretins. Such fools," he said, to himself more than to Harry. Harry regarded his uncle, unsure what to feel. He was surprised at how genuinely sorry the Dursleys seemed to be and although he had come to make up with them, he wasn't sure how he felt. He was happy, confused, upset and more, but he had known this meeting wouldn't have been emotionally easy.

After sharing a couple of whiskeys and a few stilted conversations, Harry and his uncle returned downstairs to the drawing room. Dudley and his mother were stood waiting for the pair.

"So, you're going?" Dudley asked.

"Yep, but I'll be seeing you soon…won't I?" Dudley nodded and walked over to Harry.

"It was nice seeing you again, Harry," he said, offering his hand to his cousin.

"Yeah, you too, Big D." Harry looked at his aunt and saw she had sat down on the sofa. He then turned to his uncle. The Dursley patriarch walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back and head bowed. At the window, he lifted his head and gazed absently beyond the gates. Just then Harry felt his wand give a sudden tug, and instinctively he dived forward, pulling his aunt and cousin to the ground. He whipped out his wand and shouted, "_Accio Vernon!" _just as the window exploded spraying deadly glass shrapnel all over the drawing room. Harry then pointed his wand directly above him and the Dursleys. "_Cubiertum," _he spat, casting a protective transparent bubble around them all.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck! Not here, not now!_

A massive explosion sounded from outside, and the shockwave was enough to shatter the remaining windows. Harry quickly jumped to his feet and surveyed the room. Stupefying his relatives, he removed the gold signet ring he was wearing on his right hand, twisted the black onyx, magically bound the Dursleys together and forced the ring into Dudley's hands, before shouting, "Portkey destination 1!" The portkey activated and in a flash of blue light, the Dursleys vanished and Harry stood alone in the centre of the drawing room, scanning it with his wand outstretched. A jet of green light flew into the room, missing Harry by millimeters.

_That does it!_ Harry twisted on the spot and apparated just outside the gates. He couldn't see anyone inside or outside, despite the outside lights flooding the driveway in bright light. The Rolls-Royce was not there; only a pyre for Bernard remained. Harry raised his wand and made a throwing motion towards the house, muttering, "_Disipa mostram." _Dark blue fog materialised in three places, showing where the attackers had just disapparated from. He lowered his wand and put his hands on his hips, breathing heavily through his nose. "Great," he muttered. "So much for a reconciliation." He pulled out his wallet, pointed his wand at it and muttered, "_portus." _Seconds later, Harry found himself back in the Ministry of Magic for the first time in three, long years.


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

_18__th__ January, 2015. Somewhere in Northern Scotland._

"Nervous some?" Harry asked, glancing at the boy on his knees next to him, while he rummaged through the mokeskin pouch that Hagrid had given him all those years ago. Harry finally found what he was looking for and pulled out a Walther WA-2000 sniper rifle. He loaded it with a single bullet, cocked the gun, and looked through the scope.

_Perfect._

"Slightly," replied the boy. "I'm not much of an 'action-man'."

"That's what your father thought, but he's one of the bravest people I know," Harry said, while carrying out final checks on the rifle. He stood up and breathed in the fresh, Scottish air. There was a light easterly wind cold enough to redden Harry's cheeks and he shivered involuntary. From his vantage point on top of a snow covered hill, Harry could see white fields stretching on all sides. All the way over on the horizon, Harry could make out a thick forest stretching for at least a mile. Although he couldn't see it, Harry knew his target's house was approximately one hundred meters from the fringe of the forest. He casually tossed the gun at the boy, who scrambled to his feet only just managing to catch the gun.

"I- I'm not doing it, am I?" asked the boy uncertainly. He looked frightened.

"No, no. I don't expect you to be killing on your internship," replied Harry while he raised his wand and pointed it towards where he believed the house to be. He began a series of complex wand movements, slashing and jabbing the air while muttering inaudible spells under his breath.

"Lestrange has some seriously good protection," Harry commented as he paused to shake his numb wand arm. When the feeling was back in his hand, Harry continued his spell casting while the boy watched with great interest. Five minutes later, there was a shimmer near the forest edge and a neat looking farmhouse materialised apparently out of thin air.

"Won't he know his protective enchantments have been removed?" asked the boy.

"Nope. I haven't removed any protective enchantments… I've just removed the invisibility charm he placed on the house. Removing that doesn't ring any alarms," Harry said with a smile. "You see, wizards are more concerned about actual attack, so if _those _protective spells go, then they'll know."

"Which is why you're using a muggle weapon...a wizard wouldn't think to put up defensive wards against a muggle weapon, right?"

"Exactly." Harry got back down on the snow covered ground and laid down on his front, training the rifle towards the now visible house. Since he'd killed Voldemort (or rather, since Voldemort's spell backfired and killed himself), Harry had qualified as an Auror and quickly rose through the ranks. Now, however, he was working with the Department of Mysteries' espionage unit, and had been for last five years. In that time, he'd been assigned to track down any remaining active Death Eaters around the world and terminate them. The new Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, was working on a 'no-bullshit' policy. Kill the roots and the plant doesn't grow, he'd say to Harry. To date, Harry had tracked down thirteen Death Eaters (or Ditts, to the Aurors) in eight different countries, of which he killed nine. They were the roots of the plant and had to go, but the other four were pathetic and stupid Ditts who posed no serious threat. They were sent to Azkaban. Rodolphous Lestrange had been proving elusive, much to Harry's chagrin. He was responsible for coordinated, well planned attacks on muggles, and his speciality was managing to pass them off as the work of radical Islamists. The attacks on the World Trade Centre in 2001 and the London bombings in 2005 were just two of his many achievements. He definitely had to go.

The front door of the house opened and Rodolphous Lestrange walked out. He was dressed in a smart suit under dark blue wizard robes and had his wand in his left hand. nine hundred meters away on the hill, Harry followed Lestrange through the rifle's scope, keeping the Ditt's head exactly between the crosshairs.

_Where do you think you're going, Lestrange._

Lestrange looked left then right, and, determining nobody was there, made to apparate.

The boy saw Lestrange drop to the ground before he heard the bang of the rifle. Even this far away, he could see the dark red blood being swallowed greedily by the white snow. The bullet had hit Lestrange in his left temple with such force, it was a surprise he still had his head on his shoulders. This was too much for the intern and he couldn't suppress the urge to throw up. Harry looked at the boy sympathetically and patted him on the back.

"There, there," he said comfortingly. "Just remember, he deserved it." Five minutes later, Harry had transfigured Lestrange's body to a bone and put it in his moleskin pouch. The sniper rifle followed and Harry stood, gesturing for the boy to do the same.

"Alright, Longbottom, let's go."

_1__st__ May, 2010. Boardroom, Department of Mysteries. _

The room Harry was falling half asleep in was not unlike a metal box. Two long tubes of fluorescent light bulbs ran the length of the ceiling, emitting a blinding white light, and apart from the smoked glass table in the centre of the room and half a dozen chairs, the room was bare.

_It's like a boardroom-cum-nuclear shelter._

Harry had been waiting in this underground box for almost an hour and his only companion was an unnamed Unspeakable, who, unsurprisingly, sat there unspeaking. The Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, was to meet Harry, along with the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones and the head of Department of Mysteries, Cadim Lore. The only logical assumption Harry could make of the imminent meeting was that he was being assigned another mission. But what that had to do with Lore, whom Harry had never heard of, the Boy Who Lived did not know. The opening of the metal door behind him caused Harry to stop his sleepy musings.

"Sorry to keep you waiting so long, Harry," came Kingsley's deep, rich voice. "You know how goblins can be in meetings."

"Not to worry, Kingsley," replied Harry. As the Minister took his place at the head of the table, Harry nodded slightly to Amelia Bones as she took a seat, but fixed his attention on the man who followed suit. Cadim Lore was unremarkable. He had a face that, when glanced at, was quickly forgotten and a stature that would avert attention from him. In short, he was the quintessential Department of Mysteries employee.

"Harry, this is Cadim Lore, head of the Department of Mysteries," began Kingsley. "Cadim, Harry Potter, Auror Captain." Both Harry and Cadim exchanged curt nods and turned to face Kingsley, clearly indicating they were ready to start the meeting.

"Right," said Kingsley. "Harry, we have a mission for you, but it is unlike any of the others you have undertaken." Kingsley paused to look at Harry before carrying on. "You will be given a team of two Aurors and two Department of Mysteries agents-"

"Wait, what?" interjected Harry, slightly sitting up in his chair and leaning forwards. "Agents? You mean like, _agents_?"

"Yes, agents, Mr. Potter," came Lore's unremarkable voice. "The Department of Mysteries deals with many things, two of which are home security and foreign intelligence. A bit like the muggles and their Military Intelligence organisation," continued Lore. Harry looked across at the DOM head, his expression unreadable, before turning back to Kingsley.

"Okay, so what do you want me to do?"

"Right, well, I think Amelia should take over," said Kingsley, indicating to Amelia who was silent up until now.

"Thank you Minister," answered Amelia's cool, assured voice. She turned slightly in her seat to face Harry and began.

"Harry, first of all, we need to fire you...wait, let me finish." Harry had shot to his feet in shock, and his face screamed of protest.

_Fire me?! What the fu-_

"We need to fire you so that, officially, you're not affiliated with us in anyway whatsoever. The same applies to the rest of your team. You will, however, receive help from us: more resources, intelligence, you name it. We've also set up a muggle bank account in Zurich, with exactly five hundred thousand dollars," Amelia said coolly. "If you need more, just let us know."

"Right. And what exactly do you want me to do?" asked Harry, although he thought he had a good idea of what his mission was.

"You're to go undercover as muggles, find the Death Eaters on this list," she said, producing a sheet of paper with a flick of her wand and giving it to Harry before continuing, "and terminate them." Harry looked at the names on the paper. There were fifteen Death Eater, most of whom Harry knew. It wasn't to say that since Voldemort's death only fifteen Death Eaters remained. No, these specific Death Eaters were the most active, causing mayhem in both the muggle and magic world. The need for their termination was obvious, especially if the world didn't want another Dark Lord roaming around.

"And you know where each of them are?"

"No. Apart from Julius Parkinson. We believe he's somewhere in Germany. You can start from there," replied Amelia.

"Which is why I'm to have two DOM agents…but why fire us first?" Harry asked interestedly.

"You'll be killing quite a few Ditts, around the world, and if you're comprised, we can't have you being traced back to us, especially when Veritaserum is used. It'll cause another uprising, and Kingsley would probably be sacked before he's assassinated," replied Amelia coolly. "The bank in Zurich is registered under a Sergey Ziplayov, a Russian oil magnate. Obviously, we invented him. You'll have a large supply of polyjuice potion, but other than that, you're to carry out your assignment with no magic, apart from the authorised portkeys we'll be giving you. If you must use magic, be careful." Amelia gestured to Kingsley who murmured his thanks, and the floor was given to Cadim.

"Mr. Potter, you'll be working with two of my agents, one of whom is an expert in muggle electronics and computing, and the other a muggle weapon's expert. They have considerable field experience, and I assure you, they are highly professional," said Cadim, in a bland voice which suited the boardroom perfectly.

"Right," said Harry. "So basically, the Ministry is now the CIA, and I'm off around the world tracking bad guys and assassinating them."

"Mr. Potter, you must understand that if we do not want a repeat of Voldemort, or indeed Grindelwald, these people must go. You of all people should know the pain that another uprising can cause." Harry glanced at Cadim before directing his gaze at Kingsley.

"Who am I getting?"

"Tonks and Higgins from the Aurors and Thomas and Gerard from the DOM. I believe you know Thomas. Dean Thomas, that is," said Kingsley.

"What?! Dean Thomas? You're kidding right?" Apart from Ron and Hermione, Harry had not kept in touch per se with his Hogwarts peers. He occasionally visited Neville and Luna, who were now married with a twelve year old son, Frank, and occasionally, Harry would bump into some of his former classmates in the Ministry. It came as a surprise, however, that Dean was working in the Department of Mysteries. The muggle born wizard had always showed an interested in art and had even thought of pursuing a career as a caricaturist for the Daily Prophet. This was a long cry from drawing embarrassing cartoons of politicians.

"Mr. Thomas is one of our best agents. And being muggle born, computers and electronics were second nature to him," said Cadim tonelessly.

"Yeah, alright. When do we start?" Harry asked Kingsley.

"As soon as you've met your team," replied the Minister for Magic before standing up and indicating the end of the meeting.

_18__th__ January, 2015. A safe house, somewhere in Wales. _

The sun had been swallowed by the mass of grey clouds and at four o'clock in the afternoon, visibility was difficult, especially with the snow blanketed landscape. With a faint pop, Harry Potter and Frank Longbottom appeared at the foot of a small hill, and began to walk north at a steady pace. Fifteen minutes later, Harry and Frank walked through the protective enchantments of their Ministry provided safe house and made for the door. Both Harry and Frank were slightly numb from the cold and in need of a firewhiskey. Although today had been a success, Harry had that annoying feeling that success came with suspicious ease. Surely Lestrange should have apparated from the security of his home, rather than outside, thought Harry. He sighed, and decided not to think too much about it. Turning to Frank, Harry said, "You're going to have to go back today. I only let you come because this mission was at home."

"Yeah, sure," replied Frank absently. The young Longbottom was still shocked by his first experience of death. It had been quick, very quick, and that scared the teenager. "Just like that," he thought to himself, "your life can end." He knew his father had fought in the Second War and that he had personally inflicted a mortal wound to Voldemort by slaying Nagini, the Dark Lord's faithful serpent companion and sixth horcrux. He knew that his father was there in that legendary Department of Mysteries battle and of the bravery he displayed throughout the Carrow's reign at Hogwarts. But Frank didn't believe he could live up to his father. He was more of the bookish sort of boy, with the reputation as the smartest student at Hogwarts after the famed Hermione Granger. His mother and father were supportive of him, but his great-grandmother wanted Frank to be more like his father and grandfather. Apparently, she was the same towards his father when he was Frank's age.

At the door, Harry knocked twice, two short raps, followed by one after a pause. The door was opened by an attractive witch with a heart-shaped face and shocking pink hair just long enough to cover her curious looking earrings.

"What alerted you to my presence when we came to pick you up from the muggles in the summer after the Triwizard Tournament?"

"You broke a plate," replied Harry.

"Wotcher, Harry," said Tonks with a smile. "That was quick."

"Yep. We didn't run into any trouble and Lestrange stuck to his usual routine," replied Harry as he dropped himself onto the sofa in the middle of the room.

"Good, good," acknowledged Tonks, as she sat down next to Harry. "Dean's got a lead on Crabbe. If he's right, we're headed for Barcelona tomorrow."

"Great, it's not like we need a rest," said Harry, stifling a yawn. "At least they're paying us well."

"Hm. You look like you could use a massage," said Tonks, as she wriggled herself behind Harry and began working on his tense shoulders. Harry relaxed and allowed Tonks to massage him into a half-sleep.

"Your hands are amazing," murmured Harry dreamily.

"They could be even more so. Somewhere...more south," whispered Tonks playfully. Although she was four years older than him, the chemistry between Nymphadora Tonks and Harry Potter was unusual. They would frequently flirt with each other to the point that one would believe the pair were more than friends, but the respect that Harry had for Tonks, and that of Tonks for Harry clearly said that the flirtations were merely harmless fun.

"Tonks!" came a shout from the back room. "Tonks! Is Harry back?"

"Yes Luis, I'm back. Where's my goddamn firewhiskey?!" Harry shouted back in mock anger.

"Coming, coming," said Luis, his voice sounding much nearer. Harry turned in his seat and saw Luis Higgins, coming towards them with a bottle of firewhiskey under his arm. Luis was a recent recruit to the Auror Corps, and after only a year and a half, the American wizard had proven himself a highly skilled Auror. He was a body of precocious talent, having graduated from the American Academy of Magic in Alaska at the age of fifteen and receiving his undergraduate and masters degrees in forensic sciences four years later from Harvard. Luis was described by many as traditionally handsome: he had deep set, piercing blue eyes, an aristocratic nose, and well-defined cheek bones. However, it was his thick, blond wavy hair that most girls found attractive and it was this said hair that was responsible for his bedding of innumerable women.

"Here we are, firewhiskey for our resident assassin," said Luis in his very faint New York accent as he set down the bottle on the wooden coffee table.

"Ah, cheers mate," said Harry as he began pouring a generous amount of the whiskey into a small tumbler conjured by Tonks. The firewhiskey burned its way through Harry's veins, instantly warming him. "Here, Frank, have some whiskey," Harry called over to Frank who was hugging himself next to a very small fire.

"Thanks, Harry," he murmured as he came to take the proffered tumbler.

"So, Lou, what d'you have for me?" Harry asked after he had been regenerated by the alcohol.

"Well, apparently, the Crabbe's are in Barcelona," said Luis, leaning back in his seat. "The Ministry thinks that they're behind the ETA attacks."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, our French contact wants to meet you...alone," was the cautious reply from Luis.

"Alone? When did he say?"

"Tomorrow, eight thirty in the evening. Paris, Hotel Thierry du Vagne, room 101."

"Room 101? Is he serious?" asked Harry, laughing.

"Well, the Patronus he sent sounded serious," said Luis, sounding more cautious.

"The _Patronus_?! I thou- what the fu- he's a _wizard_?" Harry exclaimed incredulously. "How did he know we're wizards too?"

"I don't know," said Luis.

"But he did say something about meeting a Jacques Delacour," said Tonks.

"Delacour? As in Head of the French Magical Police Force?" Harry asked, his interest clearly showing on his face.

"The very same," came a new voice from the doorway. "Dean says to keep it down, he's trying to catch up on some sleep." Martin Gerard joined the others on the sofa. He was a pale faced wizard with slick, black hair. Like every other Department of Mysteries employee, there was nothing remarkable about Martin's appearance, save for his dark purple eyes. Martin was half-vampire as well as half-French, and the way he had introduced himself to the team for the first time, it was as if the unusual combination were part and parcel.

"How'd Delacour find out?" Harry asked Martin.

"No idea. But you can find out when you go and see him," replied Martin in his slightly throaty voice.

"Right. We need to let the Ministry know first. We'll give Frank the message for when he goes back tonight," said Harry.

"Yeah, and we also need more bribe money," Tonks reminded Harry.

"Yeah, and I also need to call Sirius," said Harry, standing up and pulling out his iPhone. Since the war with Voldemort had ended, the wizarding world in Britain had experienced a small revolution. Without the threat of death looming over people, travelling proliferated, especially travelling into the muggle world. The wizarding world soon acknowledged the benefits of incorporating some aspects of the muggle world into their own, and thus the use of computers, telephones and the internet became common. Now, it wasn't unusual to walk into a wizarding household and find children playing on iPods and watching television. In fact, this change had been championed by Harry's best friend, Hermione Granger who couldn't understand why wizards were determined to remain in the Middle Ages. Hermione was now the Ambassador to the Muggle World and head of the newly founded Department of International Relations and International Magical Law.

Harry walked out of the small room and up the small flight of stairs to his bedroom. He was surprised that he had signal in the remote area they were in. He dialled Sirius's number, and after two rings, the old Marauder picked up.

"This is Sirius Black speaking, how may I be of assistance today, oh Ye Who Lived."

"Yeah, hi, I'm looking for a fifty-five year old idiot- no wait, I think I'm speaking with him," laughed Harry.

"Watch it, mate," replied Sirius, the smile evident in his voice. "How're things?"

"All good, dear Padfoot. Lestrange has now been bye-byed and I'm off to Paris tomorrow."

"Paris? I didn't know there were Ditts there. The FMPF are very thorough," said Sirius.

"Well, I'm going to meet Monsieur Delacour," answered Harry, dropping himself on his bed.

"What in Merlin's name are you meeting him for?" asked Sirius, his voice slightly rising.

"Turns out our French contact is also a wizard and Delacour seems to know who we actually are," replied Harry.

"Hmm, well maybe you lot need to be a little bit more careful."

"Pads, if we're a little bit more careful than we are already, we'll be coming back home in another thirty years."

"Fair enough. Anyway, how's young Frank holding up?" Harry paused to yawn before answering.

"As expected. He'll learn to cope," said Harry, his voice thick with tiredness.

"Sure. By the way, Ron told me to remind you not to forget his game against Puddlemore United."

"Yeah, yeah, real funny."

"Sorry, sorry, I forgot you're not allowed to come back home," said Sirius sounding more than slightly amused. "Anyway, I gotta go, Buckbeak's making a racket outside. Thanks for the update."

"Alright, I'll call you after Paris," said Harry.

"You do that. Stay safe," replied Sirius, and he hung up, leaving Harry free to fall into a deep sleep.


End file.
